


Some Stones are Better Left Alone

by owlaholic68



Series: Noir!AU [2]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 2
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1950s, Alternate Universe - Detectives, Alternate Universe - Noir, Explicit Sexual Content, Gen, Gun Violence, Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Kidnapping, Non-Graphic Violence, Road Trips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-07
Updated: 2018-01-21
Packaged: 2019-03-01 21:08:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13303254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlaholic68/pseuds/owlaholic68
Summary: The case isn't closed yet.With the Enclave hot on her trail, it's a race against time to solve this mystery - before it's too late.





	1. Run

In a silent house, a phone rings. 

The bedroom of this house is dark, with rustic-looking furniture that looks almost polished in the slick shadows. Trinkets and heavy books are scattered across bookshelves. 

The phone is still ringing, cutting through the peaceful night. The clock on the bedside table reads 3:24. In a pile of blankets on the bed, someone groans and turns over. The phone is still emitting a shrill clatter. 

“Police Chief Marcus speaking,” the man answers the phone, already throwing the covers off his legs and sitting up. A early morning phone call usually means trouble, an emergency that needs his personal attention. But contrary to his expectations, it’s not the police station who is on the other end.

“Marcus?” Carla’s quiet voice comes down the line. He sits up straighter. “It’s Carla.” 

“Carla? What’s wrong?” In the background, Marcus can hear cars speeding by. “Where are you? Are you in a phone booth?”

“Yeah,” she answers, voice shaking. “I’m leaving town, Marcus. I won’t be back for a couple of weeks.” 

He frowns. “Leaving town? Why?” When he gets no response, he tries a different approach. “Are you on a case?” 

“Yeah, I am. Tell-” she stops herself, “no, nevermind. I don’t want anyone else involved. I just-” she audibly sniffles, “I just wanted someone to know. Thank you, Marcus, for everything. And if I don’t come back, don’t look for me. I don’t want you getting in danger too.” 

“What? Carla, what are you-” 

The line cuts out as Carla hangs up on him. Marcus is left sitting in his bed in a dark room with a silent phone in his hand. Slowly, he puts the receiver back down. Then he sighs and turns on the bedside lamp. He’s not going to get anymore sleep tonight.

* * *

Carla sits on the scratchy duvet of her motel bed. Dogmeat lays on a chair, his head drooping off the seat cushion as he softly snores. 

She rubs her eyes and runs a hand through her hair, which she had neglected to braid in her distracted state of mind. A suitcase sits by the door, small enough for her to carry with ease. 

The motel room clock reads 4:21. Earlier that night, everything had been fine. Less than five hours ago, she had been curious but unfrightened, setting up the ham radio set in her apartment. But now, with clothing hastily stuffed into a bag and a gun in her purse, everything has changed. 

Sooner or later,  _ they  _ will find her. She just has to make sure she finds them first. 

In front of her on the blanket is a map of California and western Nevada. She had driven an hour east of San Francisco, bypassing San Jose and choosing to stay in a mid-sized city. Safer that way. Right now, she has two options: hide or seek. 

Option one: lay low and hope that the Enclave gives up. Considering their past record of killing anyone who finds out about them, that doesn’t seem likely. And where could she hide for that long? 

Option two: follow the half-formed trail she’s uncovered and try to find this mysterious “Enclave” before it finds her. But all she knows is that they were involved with the Salvatores in some way. Juan’s journal had mentioned a secret trip to the north, but hadn’t said exactly where, only that they’d ditch their car after about four or five hours of driving, then hike the rest of the way. 

Her fingers trace the map, north from San Francisco. Somewhere along the coast? There were nothing but small towns there, though. Any of these places could have been their goal. She needs more direction than just “north”. Maybe someone else knows something.

For now, she’ll do a mixture of both plans. Hide and gather information until she can find out what she needs to know. 

Who is the Enclave? Where are they? What are they doing? And why are they so invested in keeping their activities secret?

Carla puts her head in her hands. Outside the motel room, a car engine rumbles. She scrambles for her pistol and holds it tightly in her hand, facing the door with her back ramrod-straight. The car engine stops. Light footsteps walk past her door, and she hears a child’s voice mumbling something. 

After a few more tense seconds, she sets the gun back down on the bed and takes a few shuddering breaths. She looks at the clock. It’s no use sleeping now, she might as well start planning. 

When she reaches into her bag to pull out her case files, her hand brushes against something metallic and cold. Swallowing hard, she pulls out a pair of scissors. 

She has something she needs to do first. 

* * *

As soon as the sun rises, Carla hits the road. Her destination: anywhere. She avoids the highway whenever possible, taking country roads that seem to stretch on for hours. 

Dogmeat wakes up and sticks his head out the window to feel the cool morning breeze. Carla had debated whether or not to leave her faithful dog back in San Francisco. But out here in the middle of nowhere? She’s glad she’s at least got another living soul with her. Anything’s better than being alone. 

When she pulls into a sleepy town, her stomach is rumbling. She parks her car at a small diner with a flickering OPEN sign. The place is nearly empty, only a few regulars chatting with the owner when Carla walks in. She self-consciously adjusts the hat on her head, unconsciously touching her hair, which she had cropped to her chin. 

Rule one of going off the grid: change your appearance. The best thing would be for her to dye her hair a different color, but that would take too long. A drastic haircut would have to suffice. She had managed to keep the scissors straight despite her shaking hands, and now had a fashionable short bob. She tries not to think about her hair too much. 

Carla nurses a mug of steaming tea and eats a generous stack of pancakes. At her feet, Dogmeat munches on a bowl of dog food that the owner of the small diner had given him. After her meal, Carla feels refreshed and ready to take on the day. Calmer. Her hands are steady despite the lack of sleep.

That is, until she hears the loud roar of helicopter blades outside. She jumps and has her hand in her purse before she remembers that she’s in public. During the night, she had connected a few dots, and had come to a hypothesis: there weren’t that many secret organizations in California. And if this “Enclave” could quietly kill several people without being caught, then they certainly had the resources to have a fleet of unmarked helicopters. What’s more, the helicopters that she had seen before were all heading to or from Reno. 

Her hands find Dogmeat’s leash and clutch it tightly. She abruptly stands up. Out the window, dust and dirt is being kicked up as the helicopter lands in front of the diner. 

“Hey, what you doin’ here? This is private property, you can’t be goin’ around landing ‘copters everywhere!” The owner stalks out of the front door, waving a dish towel and yelling at the people in the vehicle. 

Carla takes the opportunity and bolts out the back door of the diner and into the parking lot. She pushes Dogmeat into the passenger side seat, then climbs into the driver’s seat, heart pounding. A helicopter like that in the middle of nowhere? It  _ has  _ to be searching for her. She starts the car and drives away at a reasonable speed, trying to avoid suspicion at all costs. Her heart is telling her to floor it and get as far away as possible, but her mind calmly takes control and she manages to stay under the speed limit. 

When she looks in the rearview mirror, the road behind her is empty. The helicopter is still parked on the ground, and no cars follow her. She makes a decision and takes an abrupt turn onto the highway headed north. Then she gets off at an exit heading west, and continues to drive erratically to shake any possible tail. 

Two hours later, she finally peels one hand off the steering wheel to pet Dogmeat, who nuzzles into her palm. 

Two hours after that, she has to stop to refuel her vehicle. She buys a sandwich from the gas station. 

Three hours later, she pulls into a large city. She doesn’t know the name and she doesn’t care. She just hopes that it’s far enough away. The streets are bustling and busy, rush-hour traffic clogging the highway exits. Carla turns into a quiet area and starts looking for a place to stay for the night. 

* * *

“Vikki and Juan were killed with poison,” Carla says aloud. Dogmeat whines as if in agreement. 

This motel she’s staying in is darker and dirtier, but it’s off the beaten path. And it has a garage for her to park her car in. If the Enclave knows what her vehicle looks like, it’s not going to help them much here. 

Rule two of hiding: make sure they can’t find your vehicle. She would just ditch the car, but she doesn’t have the money on hand to get another one, nor does she have the time. For now, she’ll just hope that they don’t know what her car looks like, and avoid using it as much as possible. She’ll have to heavily rely on public transportation and taxis for the time being. 

“Richard Wright was also killed with the same, or similar, poison,” she says. “All three of them were investigating something. The-” she struggles to say the words out loud, even in the empty room. “The Enclave. Somewhere up north, but close enough to have some association with the Salvatores.” 

She flips through case notes. Photos, handwritten accounts, autopsy reports- 

Wait. Richard’s autopsy. She shivers and rubs her arms. Doctor Henry had lied about the cause of death. He didn’t want her to find out that Richard had been poisoned. Why? 

At the time, she had guessed that he worked for one of the Reno mob families. But that didn’t sit right with her. After all, the Wrights entrusted him with the job because he was independent. But with what she knew now…

What if Doctor Henry was part of the Enclave? 

It’s an idea she is reluctant to consider. But it’s one that she must face all the same. If she had known earlier that Richard had been poisoned, would she have put the pieces together sooner? Would she have connected the two cases if she had known from the start? 

Carla sighs. Yes, the autopsy results would have immediately piqued her interest if she had known that poison was involved. And if Doctor Henry was lying to protect the Enclave, he would have known that Vikki and Juan were killed in the same way, and that she would realize their connection. 

It was the perfect way to throw her off the trail, and it had worked. And then Doctor Henry had suddenly disappeared into thin air. 

If  _ anyone  _ could be part of the Enclave, how could she trust anybody she came across? The motel owner, the gas station attendant, the waitress at the diner, how could she trust  _ any  _ of them? 

Outside, it starts raining, a hot spring downpour. Carla peeks through the curtains and can’t see more than a few feet in the gloom. She lets the curtains fall back into place, then turns to the bed. 

She jumps at a boom of thunder. For a second, it sounded like a gunshot, or like a shout of alarm. Another crack of thunder, and the world outside lights up from a bolt of lightning. Carla jams a chair under the door handle and drags a dresser in front of the only window. 

Her suitcase stays mostly unpacked. She takes a hasty shower and changes into pajamas, her only pair she had packed. Her gun goes under her pillow, and Dogmeat curls up next to her in the bed. 

Before turning off the lamp that dimly illuminates the room, she hesitates. The storm outside is still raging, the rain drumming on the roof. She takes a deep breath and extinguishes the light. 

Now, she’s in the dark, completely alone, and terribly afraid. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oooh yeah it's time for the sequel! Look forward to updates once a week because of school. Also, special warnings will be tagged at the beginning of chapters, but I don't want to tag the whole fic yet to avoid spoilers/guesses.


	2. Hide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unusual plan. 
> 
> Warnings for semi-explicit sexual content. Let me know if I should tag this fic as explicit because of it.

This nightclub is, in a word, seedy. 

And that’s exactly why Carla had picked it. She sits in a seat against the wall, cradling a drink in one hand while her other lays palm-up on the table. Open. Innocent. Not  _ too  _ innocent, of course, since people like  _ that  _ don’t frequent the Cat’s Paw, but just shady enough to be one of their regular clientele. 

The Cat’s Paw is a brothel trying desperately to rebrand itself as a club. Carla’s not oblivious: she’s seen one or two of the dancers go backstage or into shadowy hallways with disreputable but rich-looking patrons, and some of the dancers seem a little  _ too  _ good on the poles. 

It’s her second night in this city, and she wants to get some information before she moves on tomorrow. That same day, she’d tracked down an arms dealer who specializes in brand-new technology. While thinking about the Salvatores, she had remembered that they seemed oddly well-equipped. Maybe the Enclave was involved, maybe it wasn’t. 

So she had discreetly contacted this supplier and asked them to meet her here. Just in case things went south, she had her bag packed and in her car. Her hotel was just down the street, less than a five-minute walk. 

So Carla waits. And she waits. And she tries not to look at her watch, but can’t help the occasional peek. Time passes oddly in this nightclub, slow, then fast, then freezing to a crawl again. 

A hand is placed on her table and she suppresses a flinch. A gorgeous and full-figured woman stands in front of her, leaning on the polished plastic of the table. 

“He stand you up, darlin’?” She asks, voice husky but sweet, like a flower tucked into the spines of a cactus. Carla gets hung up on the sultry slouch of her eyelids.

“No,” Carla says, and her mind seizes up, suddenly all too aware of how warm she is, how bright this woman’s eyes are. “I- no. I’m fine.” 

The woman snorts. “Come on, I don’t like folks havin’ a bad time in my place.” She glides to Carla’s side and traces a manicured red finger across the table until it touches Carla’s hand. “You can call me Miss Kitty, darlin’. Now what’s your trouble? Maybe not a man, but a woman?” 

Carla’s had her fair share of both types of problems. But this is a my-secret-contact-didn’t-show-up-and-now-I’m-paranoid sort of problem, not a love problem. “Uh, I-” 

The door to the nightclub opens and her contact walks in. Carla sits up straighter, then stiffens in panic as two tall men flank him. All three of them have pistols at their hips, half-concealed by their jackets. 

He was supposed to come alone. But he was late and accompanied by two bodyguards. Carla makes a snap decision, following her instincts as she has for so many years. This whole situation feels wrong and dangerous. She’s hit something too close and she needs to get out of here. 

“Actually,” Carla grabs Miss Kitty’s arm, “maybe you could help me forget my troubles?” She bites her lip suggestively. 

Miss Kitty grins. “Thought you’d never ask, darlin’.” She puts an arm around Carla’s shoulders and pulls her to her feet. “I got a nice quiet room in the back.” 

As Carla is led out of the main room and into the back, she sees the three men look around, but their eyes slide right past her. Still, she doesn’t relax until she enters Miss Kitty’s private room, a small and simple chamber. 

But now what should she do? The men will still be searching the place for a little while, or at least hanging out in hopes that she’ll show up. 

“So, you got a name, darlin’?” Miss Kitty asks, guiding them both to sit on the bed. 

“Carolyn,” Carla responds. “But you can call me Carol for short.” She has an opportunity here. Maybe she should take advantage of it. Carla puts a hand on Miss Kitty’s cheek, running her thumb over the other woman’s plump lips. 

Kitty smiles and takes Carla’s hat off, throwing the hatpin on the floor. “Carol. I like that. And I like you.” She leans in and kisses Carla, and Carla’s never felt anything softer than her lips. Kitty’s hair is thick and long, strawberry blond and falling loosely over her shoulders. She buries her hand in Carla’s cropped hair, tugging gently at the dark strands. 

Footsteps sound outside the door, heavy boots, stopping in front of the door, the wood creaking. Carla bites Kitty’s lip and elicits a loud groan. The footsteps move on, but she can still hear them. Still too close. Kitty pulls back and runs her hands down Carla’s chest down to the buttons of her dress. 

“You wanna go a little further with this?” She breathlessly asks, her bangs hanging down and covering up one eye. 

“Yeah, as long as you want this too,” Carla responds, hurrying to shuck her jacket and Kitty’s. But she grabs Kitty’s wrists, stopping her from unbuttoning her dress. “But how about we keep clothes on?” If she needs to make a quick escape, the last thing she wants is to have to search for her clothing. However, she does kick off her heels, which clatter loudly across the worn wood floor. 

Kitty nods. “Hey girl, whatever you want. I can take a challenge.” She puts both of her hands on Carla’s thighs and slides them up, the smooth silk of her dress covering up her hands. In response, Carla moves to straddle her on the bed. Kitty’s wearing a skintight dress that leaves almost nothing to the imagination. 

Carla gasps, Kitty’s fingers brushing the edge of her girdle. Then those warm and soft fingers caress her thighs, and Carla can barely keep enough concentration to hike up Kitty’s skirt, sliding it up to her waist. Kitty’s not wearing  _ any  _ underwear, which both shocks and arouses her. 

“Like what you see, kitten?” Kitty whispers, giggling at the way Carla blushes. She trails her hand further up Carla’s thigh, until Carla is squirming at the light touch. “You want me to really touch you, Carol?” Carla nods enthusiastically. 

These past two days, her mind has been a chaotic whirlwind of plans and backup plans. Worries have clouded her thoughts, paranoia has dragged her down. 

But now, with Kitty’s hand dipping down into her panties and caressing her? Carla’s head is blissfully clear. All she knows is that she likes this, and she wants more. She makes this fact known. 

“Oh, how about we keep this a two-way street, darlin?” Kitty playfully says, and Carla hastens to touch her. She’s clumsy after several years without practice, but Carla quickly finds several spots that make the woman underneath her moan. 

Those heavy footsteps stop outside the door, and muffled voices filter through. Carla eavesdrops with effort, pushing through the heavy pleasure that fogs her brain. 

“-not here,” one of them says, the deep voice of one of the bodyguards. “-want to know about this, we’ll go back to Navarro.” 

Navarro. Finally, she had the name of one of their bases. A lead she could maybe follow. The footsteps outside the door fade away until all Carla can hear is the breathy moans of Kitty underneath her. Right. Need to finish that up first. 

Not more than ten minutes later, Carla peeks out the back door of the nightclub. The parking lot is clear, so she hurriedly walks to her hotel, grabs Dogmeat, checks out, and hits the road. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short one. This is actually a holdover from an idea for the first part, where Carla was going to infiltrate a "Gentleman's Club". The scene didn't quite fit in anywhere, but I felt like it presented a unique opportunity this time!


	3. Danger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bad day. 
> 
> Warnings for: suicidal thoughts/intentions

Carla doesn’t drive very far this time. Just as the sun is peeking above the horizon, she comes across a large city. Glancing at her map, she realizes that she’s just south of Reno. 

The hotel she chooses this time is just as run-down as the last one, but it’s clean enough. The lobby has a phone booth, which she climbs into and closes the door behind her. The number she dials is familiar, the sharp whirr-click of the wheel comforting. 

“San Francisco police station,” a voice on the other end answers. Carla asks to be transferred to Marcus, and only has to wait a few seconds. 

“Police Chief Marcus speaking,” his gruff voice says, and Carla feels tears spring to her eyes. 

“It’s me, Carla,” she whispers. 

Rule number three of not being found: assume that all communication is being monitored. That being said, she was confident that the Enclave didn’t know what hotel she was staying at and that nobody was currently listening in on her. So she felt safe. For now. 

“Carla?” Marcus exclaims, and she can hear him urgently say something to someone else in the room before he turns back to the phone. “Carla, it’s been days. Where are you? Are you alright? Are you in danger-” 

“Marcus, I’m fine,” she interrupts. “I can’t tell you where I am, but I’m safe right now. I need you to look into something for me.” 

On the other end, she hears a door open and two voices say something to Marcus. Then she hears the receiver go into someone else’s hands. 

“C-Carla, is that y-you?” Lenny is quieter than she’s ever heard him. “Where a-are you, I was so w-worried, Carla-” 

“It’s okay,” she says, then bursts into tears. Just hearing their voices is making her realize how alone she feels. Outside the phone booth, Dogmeat whines at her distress. “It’s okay, Len, I’m fine-” 

“It’s the c-case, isn’t it?” He asks. “Who-Whoever killed them is a-after you now.”

She nods, then remembers that they can’t see her. “Yeah. I couldn’t let- I couldn’t let anyone else get involved.” 

The phone receiver changes hands again, and this time it’s Goris’ voice that comes through. 

“Carla, if you need assistance, all you have to do is ask,” he says, his voice calm. It helps steady her a little. “We are your friends. There is no danger that could stop us from helping you.” 

She sniffles and wipes at her face with her sleeve. “Goris, can they hear me?” He says they can’t. “Tell them I said that you are  _ absolutely  _ not to find me. But,” she only has a minute left on her call, “meet me in Sacramento tomorrow at 6 in the evening. In front of the city cemetery. Come alone,  _ do not  _ bring Len with you.” She looks at the time left. Only thirty seconds. “I need to talk to Marcus now, quickly.” 

“Carla-” Marcus says, almost breathlessly, as he’s handed the phone. 

“Navarro,” she blurts. “Navarro. Be careful.” 

Then she hangs up. 

* * *

This city’s public library is dim and dusty. Carla’s low heels tap-tap on the wood floor. She walks through a large open lobby with a gorgeous fountain and into the shelved catacombs of the library. 

As she walks through the maze of bookshelves, Carla becomes aware that anyone could be watching her through the books, anyone could be hiding just out of sight in another aisle- 

She snaps herself out of those thoughts. She needs to keep her head. Now is not the time to be getting paranoid. She’s still a little shaky from her night without sleep. 

The library is large and winding. Carla passes fiction, biography, and a children’s area, where toddlers are playing with puzzles and reading picture books. Finally, she makes her way to the chemistry and medical section of the library. A table nearby is her refuge for the next hour while she reads and studies. Vikki had been studying chemistry. Vikki was killed with poison, but maybe she knew something. Lenny had said that the poison used in both crimes was a particularly unusual chemical. 

Her hypothesis: The Enclave was a hub of scientific activity. They sold superior weaponry to local mobs in exchange for something. That part she was certain of after her encounter with the weapons dealer. But what could a group that advanced need in exchange? And what about the poison, was that something that the Enclave made? Or was that something that the Salvatores took care of? 

After researching, she stretches and piles her books on the re-shelf cart. She looks out the window. She might as well stop somewhere for dinner before crashing in her hotel room. She’s got a long drive ahead of her tomorrow to meet Goris in Sacramento. 

With that thought in mind, Carla retraces her steps to the library entrance. The lobby is bustling now, several families at the desk. A little kid is sitting on the edge of the ornate fountain, kicking his heels and reading a book. People are coming and going through the library doors. 

The doors are mere feet in front of her when a commotion rises from behind her.

“Stop, sir! Get down from there!” Someone shouts, and Carla turns to see a man clamber up onto the fountain, climbing up until he reaches the top. 

“No!” he shouts, pulling something from his jacket. “Now you’re  _ all  _ going to listen to Jack for once!” He’s dressed in a police uniform with a deputy badge. Stress and tension leaks from every inch of this man: his jaw is tightly clenched, eyes bulging out from his head. 

He holds up the object in his hand and Carla’s heart skips a beat. It’s a detonator. Strapped across Jack’s torso above his uniform are several long blocks of explosives, connected by wires to the detonator in his hand. 

The crowd gasps and goes silent. People start trying to push past Carla towards the door. 

“Stop!” Jack yells. “Anyone tries to leave this building, I’ll blow it! This isn’t your fault, but I’m taking you all down with me!” He points at a receptionist who has reached for a phone. “And don’t try anything stupid! Don’t call the police, God knows they can’t do  _ anything  _ right! I should know!” He laughs, a bitter and angry laugh. 

Carla takes a deep breath. Everyone around her is frozen in fear and shock. Wouldn’t it be ironic, to be killed by a suicidal man before the Enclave even finds her? To die before discovering the truth? 

She steps forward towards the man on top of the fountain, hands raised next to her head to show she means no harm. “Don’t do this, Jack. There’s always another solution,” she says, keeping her voice calm. The click of her heels on the floor echoes in the tense silence. 

He snarls. “Yeah, sure. What do  _ you  _ even know about me? About any of this?” 

At the base of the fountain, the kid who had been reading there is sitting frozen in panic. Carla internally seethes. It’s one thing to kill yourself, it’s another to take innocent people with you. She slowly lowers one hand to beckon towards the child. “Kid, come here.” 

Jack looks down and winces before resuming his aggressive and angry stance. Carla is horrified at his lack of conscience. He really does intend to blow up this library, and not even the presence of children will stop that. The kid at the fountain looks back and forth between Jack and her before slowly walking over to Carla. 

This child can’t be more than three or four years old, and it takes almost no effort for Carla to scoop him into her arms. He buries his head in her shoulder and bursts into tears, the edge of his glasses digging into the skin of her neck. 

“No, Jack, I don’t know. So how about you tell me,” Carla says, unable to hold back the sneer on her face. “What kind of shit would make you want to blow up a  _ library  _ and kill a bunch of kids?” 

“My fucking ex-wife,” he yells. “That  _ cheating  _ hellhole of a woman took  _ everything  _ from me in the divorce!”

“So, what, you decided to kill a bunch of innocent people to deal with it? How the hell is  _ that  _ going to fix anything?” Carla yells right back. She’s shaking from the stress of the last few days of running and hiding and looking over her shoulder, and she’s had  _ enough  _ of this situation. 

Jack clenches his hand around the detonator. “Crap, I don’t know! This is where I proposed to that  _ witch _ . It’s symbolic and shit, I gotta do  _ something _ ! Let people know they can’t go walking all over Jack. ” 

Carla laughs and the crowd jumps. The kid in her arms tightens his grip around her neck. “They already know, Jack. Look around. You blow yourself up now and you’ve lost their respect for good.” 

He hesitates. Carla’s hope soars. There might be a chance of talking him down. Then he clutches the detonator to his chest. “No. I need folks to listen, and this is the only way they’re going to listen.” 

“And you know what they’re going to hear?” Carla challenges. She’s dancing on thin ice here. “They’ll hear: Jack took the weak way out. He let himself get pushed around by his ex-wife. She wins, you lose.” 

His face falls. His hand relaxes and falls to his side. “Really? You really think so?” 

Carla nods. “Don’t let her win, Jack. Now’s your chance to be the big man and stand up to her.”

The minute in which Jack doesn’t reply generates the worst feeling Carla’s ever felt. It starts in her chest, squeezing the fast thump-thump of her heart, then it drops to her stomach and grips that organ with an icy cold hand. 

“Okay.” Jack climbs down from the fountain. He kneels on the floor and sets down the detonator. “Okay, you’re right. Yeah, you-” he runs a hand over his face, “you’re right.”

Carla sighs in relief. Jack disconnects the explosives and sets them on the floor too, then sits heavily on the edge of the fountain, head in his hands. 

The kid in her arms squirms. Carla kneels and sets him on the ground. “Where’s your parents?” She asks. He shakes his head and shrugs. “Well, who did you come here with? Where are they?” 

“Outside,” he quietly says, short blond hair askew. He takes Carla’s shaking hand and leads her to the library doors. She can hear sirens in the distance getting closer, and tries not to rush too much as they walk down the stairs. The last thing she wants to do is draw too much attention to herself. 

They turn around the corner of the library to the parking lot, and the kid breaks off from Carla and sprints towards a short man, who kneels and scoops him up in a tight hug. 

“Arcade, are you alright? What happened in there, are you injured-” 

The man looks up and meets Carla’s eyes, his voice trailing away. Both of them stop and stare at each other. 

“Doctor Henry,” Carla speaks, but it feels distant. She feels her hand reach into her purse and close around her gun, but she stops herself from pulling it out. The space they’re standing in seems too big, too empty, too public. And what’s she going to do, kill someone in front of a toddler?

The man looks up at her, eyes wide behind his thick glasses. The kid, Arcade, clutches the front of his shirt and looks between them. 

“Carla,” he says, seemingly at a loss for words. “I-”

“I think you owe me some answers.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh f*** yeah, it's my new favorite character, child!Arcade. 
> 
> Also, the library scene is based off of the Fo2 quest "Stop Officer Jack from blowing up the power plant". This city is kinda supposed to be NCR/Shady Sands, but only because I wanted another quest before finding Henry, and an NCR one seemed like a good fit. 
> 
> What's going to happen next? Face-to-face with an Enclave agent, how will Carla get out of this one?


	4. Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for: kidnapping, spooky cemetery

“Carla-” Doctor Henry stands, pushing Arcade behind him. “I-”

“You’re with  _ them _ ,” Carla scowls, stepping closer to him. “You’re working for the-”

“Not anymore,” Henry says, quietly and quickly. “You have to believe me, I’m not going to rat you out to them, I haven’t had contact with anybody for days, not since you visited me in Reno.” 

Carla narrows her eyes, suspicious. Henry  _ seems  _ sincere, but why would he just abandon an insidious and powerful secret society? And what’s up with the kid? “Why did you leave?” 

“I-” They both jump at the sound of sirens getting closer. They share a glance. Both have their reasons to avoid the police right now. The last thing Carla wants is to draw attention to herself or to have any of her personal information on record in this city. And who knows if the Enclave had spies in the police force? 

Henry looks down at Arcade, who has taken to hiding behind his legs. Then he looks back up at Carla. “There’s a diner down the street. I’ll tell you everything.” 

After a second of hesitation, she agrees. They sit in a corner booth, Carla on one side, Henry on the other with Arcade huddled against his side. The kid hadn’t said a word the entire time, just looking back and forth between the two adults. He didn’t even talk to the waitress, who optimistically tried to engage him with a coloring sheet. 

After ordering their food, Henry tells his story. 

“It was the same day you visited me,” he says. “I got a knock on my door. Two men from the-” he nervously looks around, “two men brought little Arcade here to my door. They said that his parents had been killed on a mission, and that the rest of their squad was on a job of their own.” He ruffles Arcade’s hair. “I was good friends with his parents, and any one of their squadmates would be good choices to raise him. But a few months ago, I had left the headquarters to fulfill a role as an independent spy, charged with keeping an eye on the Reno mobs. I guess they didn’t want a little kid hanging around the headquarters, so they shipped him off to me.” 

Carla frowns. “But you said you’re no longer a part of their...organization.” 

“That’s right. I just,” he frowns, “I just couldn’t handle the way they did things anymore. They didn’t so much as let the kid grab his stuff before telling him what had happened and carting him off to someone he barely knew. He was a mess. None of them had even  _ tried  _ to comfort him- a three year old, being told that his parents were dead without so much as a comforting hug!” Henry shakes his head and grits his teeth. “I was just so angry. We left that night. Been laying low ever since.” 

A waitress delivers a basket of fries to their table, and Henry coaxes Arcade into eating a handful. 

“What about you?” Henry asks. 

“Hm? What about me?” Carla responds, confused. 

“I saw the way you looked. They’re looking for you, aren’t they?” 

She sighs. “I got too close to the truth. They contacted me a few days ago, so I ran.” She runs a hand over her face. “I just don’t know where to go. I don’t know how to find them and stop them.” 

Henry counts on his fingers for a second. “You’ve gone almost five days without them finding you. That’s impressive. Most don’t even make it one day.” He leans forward, his face clouded with gravity. “But be careful. They’re going to start getting frustrated. And they may take extreme measures to try and find you.” 

She shivers. “I just need to find them first. I know the name of one of their bases. Navarro,” she whispers. 

“As I said, impressive,” Henry says, eyebrows raised. “But you don’t know where, right?” In response to her negative response, he nods. “I can give you the name of the town. It’s on the coast.” He whispers the name to her. To an outside observer, it looks like they’re sharing a basket of fries. 

Carla is amazed at how quickly she started trusting him. First, he lies to her, now he’s helping her? But her instincts have never failed her yet, and every bone in her body points towards trust. 

She rubs her eyes and looks out the window. It’s getting dark, and she needs to return to her room and get some sleep. She’s got a long day ahead of her tomorrow. But now she’s got a location and a plan. 

And that’s better than nothing.

* * *

The next day, she drives to Sacramento. She sticks to back roads, passing abandoned gas stations and crumbling motels. The day passes without incident. 

Six o’clock in front of the city cemetery. Carla’s car is parked down the street. In one hand, Carla holds Dogmeat’s leash. She stands inside the entrance, just to the left. A casual observer would take her for a mourner, dressed all in black with a small veil over her face. 

Five minutes past six, Carla starts getting worried. If there’s one thing she’s learned about Goris in the scant days she knew him, it’s that he is punctual. Always. No matter what, Goris arrives on time. 

Ten minutes past six, and she walks a little ways into the cemetery, the twilight casting long shadows. She sits on a bench, Dogmeat at her feet sniffing some plants. She keeps looking at her watch, and the minutes tick by slowly, too slowly. 

Fifteen minutes past six. Carla abruptly stands. Something’s gone wrong. Goris wouldn’t be this late unless-

A hand wraps around Carla’s mouth. She jumps and instinctively slams her elbow back into someone’s stomach. Her other hand is reaching into her purse for her gun. Dogmeat is growling at the person behind her, hackles raised. 

“Carla, it’s me,” someone- a familiar voice- says, and they let her go. She whirls and recognizes Goris, to her immense relief. His glasses glint in the fading light, making his eyes look blood red. 

“Goris, don’t sneak up on me!” Carla hisses. “What happened? Where were you?” 

He furtively looks around, a finger pressed to his lips. “Someone was following me. I had to shake them off my trail. But I fear that I may not have completely escaped.”

There’s a soft crunch of footsteps on gravel. The gravestones and hedges block their view, still-closing rose buds hanging low over the path. Carla grabs Goris’ arm and tugs both him and Dogmeat along the path and around a corner. She loops his leash around her wrist and draws her pistol, shifting her other hand so that it firmly holds Goris’. He takes out his own weapon. With a large backpack on his back contrasting with the lankiness of his legs, he looks like a gigantic hulking monster. 

Carla shakes that thought. It’s just the creepiness of the cemetery getting to her. They crouch and creep through well-manicured paths, making their way to the back entrance of the cemetery. They stop to get their bearings, huddled together behind a particularly large gravestone. Dogmeat’s ears perk up and he swivels his head to the side. 

Voices are coming past them. Carla strains her ears to listen. 

“-just as slippery as she is, damn it,” one voice says. It sounds vaguely familiar to the one she heard in the nightclub, but she can’t be sure. 

“At least we got one of them,” the other voice responds, then the footsteps fade away. 

As they make their way to Carla’s car, she thinks about what they said, her stomach churning in dread. What did they mean by that?  _ Who  _ did they get? If not her and Goris, then-

Lenny. Or Marcus. 

She has to force herself to drive slow, pulling out of the downtown area and heading to the suburbs. She stops next to a roadside telephone booth. The confined space is only meant for one person, but Goris squeezes in next to her as she shakily dials the San Francisco police station number. The phone rings, and rings, but someone finally picks up. 

“Police Chief Marcus speaking.” Carla almost starts crying right there. Marcus was safe. But if Marcus was safe, then- 

She  _ does  _ start crying, and Goris takes the phone from her. 

“Marcus, it’s Goris,” he says. “I’m with Carla right now. I’m sorry that I didn’t warn you that I was leaving, but we couldn’t take any chances.” 

She can hear Marcus sigh in relief. “Thank goodness you’re both safe. I just,” he pauses and sighs, “I don’t know if I could take more bad news.” 

“Where’s Lenny?” Carla asks, dabbing at her cheeks with a handkerchief. 

Marcus pauses and sighs again. He sounds exhausted. “I’m sorry, Carla. I received a telegram an hour ago.” He reads:

> YOU CANNOT HIDE FOREVER CARLA STOP LEONARD IS IN GOOD HANDS FOR NOW STOP GIVE UP WHILE YOU STILL CAN

Carla buries her head into Goris’ chest and just screams, the sound echoing off the glass of the telephone booth. This is all her fault, if only she’d been more careful. Why didn’t she ask Lenny to come with Goris? Then they’d both be safe with her. God, what has she done? 

“Marcus,” she sobs, Goris hugging her tightly. “Marcus, lay low. Stay safe, we’re going to find him, I have a location of their base already. Just,  _ please _ , be careful.” She doesn’t wait to hear his response before she hangs up, her hand falling limply from the telephone receiver. 

She’s shaking too hard to open the booth door. Anger and helplessness are rattling her limbs. All she can do is numbly fumble for the handle, fingers trembling. Goris leans over her and opens the door, walking them both to the car where Dogmeat waits. He guides her to sit in the passenger seat. 

“I’ll drive for now,” he says, already taking out the map where Carla had marked the location of Navarro. “You just try to get some sleep.” 

“We’re going to make them  _ pay _ ,” Carla says, but it lacks her usual ferocity. In the dark car on an empty street, it just sounds empty and frightened. “We’re going to find him and we’re going to make sure the Enclave never messes with anyone ever again.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UH OH


	5. Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Four different POVs of the situation.
> 
> Warnings for minor character death and mentions of kidnapping.

That telegram sits on his desk. Folded in half, he can almost forget it. Just an innocent piece of paper. 

But still, it haunts him. It weighs heavy on his mind, drags on his conscience. Never has a case taken a turn like this. Plenty of cases had put the investigating detectives or officers in danger, but never someone like Lenny. His people knew what they were signing up for when they joined his team. Every single officer was handpicked and personally screened by him before they ever touched a case. 

But Lenny wasn’t an officer. He was  _ worse _ : a friend. 

And now two- no, three- of his friends were in danger. Carla was being pursued by whoever had taken Lenny. She had been in mortal peril for days, all alone. But she wasn’t alone anymore. Goris had safely joined her. But now  _ he  _ was in the line of fire, and Marcus isn’t sure if he could stomach anything happening to either of them. 

And Lenny. Marcus puts his head in his hands. Lenny. 

In a fit of helpless anger, he sweeps the telegram off his desk and onto the floor. 

* * *

This wasn’t his house. This wasn’t even  _ a  _ house. It wasn’t an apartment, it wasn’t anywhere. 

He had been able to bring his favorite stuffed animal with him when- when everything had happened. His father had given it to him- he stops himself from thinking about his father. His stuffed lizard- an  _ iguana _ , Henry had called it, repeating the word slowly and drawing out the vowels. He had grabbed his iguana, and now he hugged it close to his body. 

The bed he was in had scratchy sheets and thin blankets. But he wasn’t cold, because there was only one bed for some reason, so Henry was sleeping next to him, head buried in a pillow. Both of their glasses were on the bedside table. 

There was a gun on the table next to their glasses. 

Henry had sternly said not to  _ ever  _ touch it. So he leaves it alone, snuggling underneath the covers. The bright alarm clock next to the bed blurrily displayed some numbers. 2:07. He had taught himself how to read one long week when his parents were gone somewhere. 

They had always been “gone somewhere”. Now they were just gone. 

That thought overwhelms him and he buries his head in his pillow to muffle his sobs. 

There’s a footstep in front of the door, soft. Arcade starts in surprise and sits up, grabbing Henry’s arm and shaking him as hard as he could. He doesn’t dare say anything, he knew that something was wrong, that they were hiding from the-

“Arcade?” Henry mumbles, raising his head and looking around. Then both of them hear a car door slam. Henry fumbles for his glasses and his gun, swinging his legs over the bed. Arcade scrambles to the floor and jams his own glasses onto his face. 

There’s a knock at the door. 

“Stay there,” Henry whispers, and Arcade stays crouched behind the bed, peeking up over the edge. Henry peeks through the peephole then opens the door a crack. “Authorization.” 

“Sergeant Bracks and Sanders,” a female voice says, and Henry fully opens the door. Two soldiers stand in the doorway. Arcade recognizes the man, Sanders, as one of the ones who brought him to Henry. 

“Come on, put the guns away, you’re scaring the kid,” Henry admonishes, tucking his own pistol into the waistband of his pajama pants. The other two reluctantly holster their own weapons, closing the door behind them. “Now what is this about? You  _ do  _ know that it’s the middle of the night, right?” 

“Why aren’t you in Reno?” Bracks asks. Straight to the point.

Henry sits on the bed. “Didn’t want to get involved in a mob war. And Reno’s not safe for Arcade. I haven’t decided if I’ll stay in this city yet or move on to something bigger. I didn’t want to contact HQ until I knew for sure what our situation was.” 

Sanders comes around the bed and kneels at Arcade’s side. “And how are you, Arcade?” 

He just shakes his head and climbs up on the bed to scoot next to Henry. Sanders hadn’t been nice to him before, he didn’t want to talk to him, he didn’t want to talk to anyone. 

Sanders frowns. “What did you do today, Arcade? Did you do anything fun?” 

“Played in the park. Went to the library. Ate dinner,” Arcade quietly responds, his hands fisted in Henry’s t-shirt. Something about this situation makes him feel like he shouldn’t mention the woman they met. But he’s never been a good liar, so he sticks to the facts.

Bracks paces around the room. “We’ve been concerned by your lack of contact, Henry. We’d have looked into it sooner, but another matter has recently taken up most of our resources.” She swivels on her heel. “You have had contact with this particular fugitive before, in Reno. Private Detective Carla. We heard she was in this area, but she slipped through our fingers  _ again _ . We have been forced to take drastic measures to draw her out of hiding.” She sighs. 

Henry nods along to what she says. “That is very worrying.” 

“Exactly.” Bracks abruptly stops. “Which is why both of you are going back to Navarro tonight. We’ve got a vertibird waiting a few miles away.”

Arcade looks up at Henry, understanding enough of the situation to be nervous. And Arcade didn’t like living at Navarro: it was too cold, too unfeeling, too lonely. 

“It’s not good for Arcade,” Henry protests. “All of that military shit isn’t good for a kid. He’ll be happier away from all of that.” 

Sanders frowns. “It’s not your decision,  _ Doctor  _ Henry. And there’s nothing you can do about it. Now come on,” he grabs Arcade’s leg and pulls him off the edge of the bed. Sanders grabs his arm and starts roughly pushing him to the door, and Arcade freaks out, kicking Sander’s shins and shrieking. He doesn’t want to go, he doesn’t want to go with him, he doesn’t want to go back-

A loud noise momentarily deafens him, then another, then all he hears is Sander’s body in front of him thudding to the ground. He doesn’t get back up, and all Arcade can do is stare at the cooling corpse in front of him, backing up slowly, bare feet sinking into the carpet. 

“Come on, Arcade,” Henry urgently says, scooping him up. He grabs both of their already-packed suitcases and throws open the door to their motel room. He tosses the suitcases into the trunk, runs back for their shoes, and quickly buckles Arcade into his booster seat. By the time Henry starts the car and pulls out of the parking lot, sirens can be heard in the distance. 

But all Arcade can think about is the two dead bodies in their motel room, and how he doesn’t understand much of what happened, but he does realize that Henry had  _ killed  _ them. Dead like his parents.

“Whoa, hey, Arcade,” Henry reaches his hand back and Arcade clings to it. “It’s okay, we’re safe now.” The road in front of them is dark as they make their way out of the city and onto the open road. Henry holds his hand the entire time, until Arcade falls asleep. 

His last thought is that he forgot his stuffed iguana back in the motel room. But it’s too late now.

* * *

The headlights illuminate a street sign. STATE HWY 20 W TURN LEFT. He checks his map, then puts on his blinker, turning onto the empty road. The desert here is large, too vast to comprehend, the roads stretching on for miles. 

Pulling away from the highway, there are no more streetlights. Only the darkness that presses down on the small car. In the backseat, Dogmeat whines in his sleep, one ear flicking up. 

In the passenger seat, Carla sleeps. Her face is pale in the odd lighting, her short dark hair making her skin look even more washed out. There are deep bags under her eyes, and her body seems too tense, as if she cannot fully relax, even now. 

Goris keeps checking in the rearview mirror, keeps waiting for someone to appear, to start shooting at them, or just to follow them until they are caught. He can’t help it, he can’t relax his hands, clenched around the steering wheel. 

This is making him paranoid too. And it’s only been a day, not even that long. Carla’s been doing this for almost a week, and she’s still going. She hasn’t gone crazy from the waiting, the fear, the constant paranoia that  _ someone  _ is watching him. How has she survived this long all alone? He gets the feeling that it was only a matter of time before it all came crashing down. 

What if he had gotten kidnapped too? Losing Lenny was bad enough, but what if he was gone too? Then she would truly be alone. How long could she have lasted knowing that both of her friends were in danger because of her? 

He taps his fingers on the steering wheel. Who knows what tomorrow will bring? Whatever it is, though, they’ll be ready. He keeps driving until Carla wakes up. 

* * *

Where was he? What had happened? 

He had been in his apartment, reading a book, and then-

Then nothing. Did he fall asleep? Is he dreaming? 

He can’t see anything, but he can swear his eyes are open. He can’t move, he can’t hardly feel his body, his fingers and toes numb and cold. He used to have sleep paralysis issues when he was younger, but it had gone away as he grew up. 

There are voices around him, faint and far away like he’s underwater. One of them sounds vaguely feminine, and he seizes his first thought, which is - 

Carla. Where’s Carla? She was in danger, she was alone somewhere- His breathing is picking up in worry, he thinks, though he can’t really tell. Is he asleep? If so, why is he so lucid? 

He doesn’t know where he is, he doesn’t know where he is, he doesn’t know where  _ Carla  _ is-

And then Lenny’s out again, sinking back into the depths of unconsciousness. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A non-Carla chapter to take a little break before next chapter (the last one, plus an epilogue!). 
> 
> Fun fact: Sergeant Bracks and (Colonel) Sanders were Enclave soldiers who were killed at Mariposa Military Base.


	6. Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for: minor character death, gun violence, mentions of kidnapping and unethical experiments, explosions

They stop at a small town just as the sun is rising. A quick stop for breakfast at a diner, where they formulate their plan. 

Goris slumps over his mug of coffee. Carla is leaning her elbow on the table, stirring some watery scrambled eggs with her fork. 

“They’re going to recognize me in an instant,” she mumbles. “I need to do something about that.” She yawns. “You probably won’t be a problem.” 

He nods. “Are we doing this in daylight?” 

“Probably won’t matter,” she replies, shrugging. “They’re probably so high-security that they’ll see us coming anyways. Maybe they’ll expect us to come at night, so we’ll catch them by surprise. Maybe.” 

“What’s our story?” Goris asks. “They won’t let us in easily. Should we split up?” 

She looks at her watch. “We’ll think about that later. For now, though, I have an idea.” 

* * *

Just before noon, they consult their map and stop the car. They’re parked at a roadside parking lot next to a nature preserve. They walk the rest of the way to their destination. They leave Dogmeat with the car; he’s too recognizable. Carla tries not to drag her feet. This is the moment where their plan could all fall through. 

An abandoned gas station. Just like Henry had said. He had warned her against trying to sneak through the forest: a dangerous minefield lay there. Their best option was to bluff the guard by pretending to be new recruits. 

As they approach the gas station, someone comes out of the building, a scruffy-looking bald man. 

“Howdy there, stranger? Ain’t seen you ‘round here before. What can old Chris do for you?” He leans on a rusting pump. 

Carla swallows hard, keeping her posture straight. “I’m looking for Navarro. Is this it?” She speaks a little more slowly than usual, her voice coming out noticeably deeper than usual. Under Chris’ scrutiny, she forces herself to stop feeling so self-conscious. She’s wearing men’s clothing: blue jeans and a loose flannel shirt with two tighter t-shirts underneath. She’s slicked her hair back into a popular boy’s style, and had dug out a pair of weak-lensed glasses from her glove compartment. 

“Me and my cousin here were told to report to Navarro,” Goris adds. He is not as drastically disguised as she is, but he has changed into different clothing and a smaller pair of glasses, his hair hidden by a baseball cap. 

Chris narrows his eyes at them, then seems to relax. “You two must be new recruits. Here, just go through this building and straight back. Stay on the path.” 

When they go through the abandoned building, Carla breathes a sigh of relief. So far, so good. 

The path leads back to a large gated wall. The two guards flanking the open gate nod at the two of them. 

“You’d better get down to the armory and suit up before reporting to the Sergeant,” one of them says as they pass. Carla nods in thanks for the tip. Goris sticks to her side as the two of them walk down a staircase and follow signs to the armory. If they want to continue unnoticed, they need to be in better disguises. 

At the armory, the officer in charge issues them new uniforms. There’s an awkward moment where Carla almost goes into the wrong changing room, but Goris gently grabs her elbow and tugs her in with him. 

Carla is grateful for the helmets that cover their entire heads. She is hit with a mild bout of claustrophobia when she slips the helmet over her face, but it quickly passes. 

When they walk out of the armory and turn the corner, she grabs Goris’ arm. “We need to find out where he is,” she whispers. “Let’s split up. Don’t make any rash decisions without me. We’ll meet back here in ten minutes.” 

* * *

The base is gigantic. There are almost ten levels that stretch underground. Goris is methodic, so he starts on their current level. Storage rooms, conference rooms, cafeterias. The next level down is all crew quarters. 

The third level down is all laboratories and other scientifically-used rooms. Goris pokes around, but finds nothings beyond vague whispers of some grand plan that was set to take place that night. 

The fourth level is prisoner holding. But when Goris tries the door, it’s locked. Next to the door is a key card swiper. The color is blue. He turns around and heads back upstairs. It’s almost time to rendezvous with Carla. 

* * *

Carla heads right to the bottom floor. Call it instinct, but she just feels like she should. And she knows how logical Goris is; he’s probably started with one floor at a time. 

The bottom floor is the reactor level. The air hums with electricity, a soft  _ whirr  _ vibrating the floor. 

Maybe she could  _ blow up _ this base. It’s an idea that she’s not fond of, but it’s one that she forces herself to consider. If she melted down the reactor, she could get rid of the Enclave in one fell swoop. Eliminate all of her problems in a few minutes. She sets aside the idea for now. If she  _ does  _ decide to do it, it needs to be the last thing she does. Who knows how much time she’d have to get out? 

She has to find Len first. 

* * *

The two of them rendezvous, ducking into an empty storage room. 

“Maybe one of the scientists have a keycard that we can take,” Carla suggests. “I think we should start there.” 

They poke through laboratories, trying to remain inconspicuous. At the end of a hallway, there are two small offices. 

On the left: DOCTOR CURLING.

On the right: DOCTOR SCHREBER.

“You take right, I’ll take the left?” Goris says, and they split up again. 

When Carla enters the room, a balding man in a lab coat turns to face her. “I hope you have a good reason for interrupting my work, soldier.” 

“I just had some questions,” Carla confidently says. Something about her voice sounds weird in this room. “What’s up with this room? Is it soundproofed?” 

Dr. Schreber nods. “Some of my experiments were found...disturbing by the CO. I do research on genetics, and on modifying those genes to achieve certain results.” As he describes his gruesome and entirely immoral research, Carla sidles over to his desk and, with her back to the desk, opens some of the drawers. Someone in charge of human experimentation might have a keycard to the prisoner level. 

There’s a blue keycard in the top drawer. Carla quickly takes it. 

“Hey, what are you doing?” Dr. Schreber notices her actions, and starts forward with a yell. 

Without thinking more than “this room is soundproof”, Carla draws her pistol and shoots him in the head. His body falls to the floor, dead. She backs up slowly. Oh, she did  _ not  _ intend to kill anyone during this mission. 

She’s killed before in self-defense, but never like  _ this _ . She takes a couple of deep breaths to stop her hands from shaking. Then she opens the door and quickly shuts it behind her. Goris is already standing back in the hallway. She can’t see his face, but something about him screams nervousness. 

They don’t speak to each other until they get into the empty stairwell.

“Goris-”

“Carla-” 

They start at the same time. Goris waves at her to go first. 

“I’ve got the keycard,” she says, not mentioning the murder involved. 

“We’ve got another problem,” he whispers. “The Enclave is launching a secret project tonight. They’re going to release poison across the state, killing everything and everyone that’s not inoculated. They were working with the Salvatores to get the components needed in exchange for weaponry.” 

Carla feels faint. So her theory  _ was  _ right. But she realizes that she’s stumbled upon something much more serious than she’d imagined. “How do we stop it?” She hears herself ask. 

Goris leans in closer, his helmet almost touching her own. “I convinced the scientist in there to hold off inoculation for a couple of hours.” 

“What if we blow it?” Carla murmurs. “The whole base. Destroyed. It’s their main base of operations, they’d never be able to recover.” But the number of people that’d be killed? She doesn’t know how many people were on the base. She could be wiping out hundreds. Hell, even killing  _ one  _ person makes her sick. 

But then she thinks about Lenny, and Marcus, and everyone she’s ever known. If that’s the price she pays for the world to stay safe, is it really that much? She swallows hard and pushes down the small voice in her that hisses that  _ nothing  _ justifies that level of violence. 

“Let’s do it,” she decides. “Now let’s go, before I change my mind. Reactor is bottom floor.” 

They fast-walk down the stairs to the bottom level. Carla realizes that she doesn’t know how to destroy the reactor. She has no explosives with her, she has  _ nothing _ . Except for her brain. She quickly searches out the highest-ranking scientist in charge of the reactor. 

“I’m Tom Murray, head of the Atomic Energy Commission. I control our atomic power plant here. Who the  _ hell  _ are you and what are you doing here?” A man in a pristine lab coat asks. They’ve cornered him in his office. 

“I need to shut down your reactor,” Carla replies. She has no time to waste. “Maybe you can help me do that.” 

“Help you? Shut it down?” Murray looks between them. “Why would I do that?” 

Carla draws her pistol. “Because if you don’t, then I’ll shut  _ you  _ down.” She’s shaking in her armor, glad that’s it’s not noticeable to the outside observer. 

Murray looks between her and Goris, who has said nothing. “O-Okay. But it’ll be dangerous. And you’ll only have ten minutes to get out, once it gets going.”

“Understood.” Carla puts her gun away. “Thanks. Get out safe.” Then she turns on her heel and fast-walks out of the room. The two of them don’t talk as they run up the stairs to the prisoner detention level. 

They slide the blue keycard into the slot, and the door opens. As they do, though, an alarm starts blaring. The reactor shutdown has begun. Quickly, the two of them run down the hallway, checking every barred cell for any sign of Lenny. 

“C-Carla?” They hear a quiet voice from a cell at the end. Carla sprints towards it, sliding to a stop in front of the door. 

“Len?” She gasps, peering through the bars. Behind her, Goris fumbles for the keycard, sliding it into the slot by the door. It slides open. Carla tears off her helmet and turns the light on in the room. 

Lenny is unharmed, thank God. He’s handcuffed, leaning against a wall, but he looks fine. 

“We have to get out of here!” Carla says. No time to find a way to get him untied; they’ve already spent two minutes, they need to get moving and find an exit,  _ quick _ . She puts her helmet back on and picks Lenny up, slinging him across her shoulder. 

Then her and Goris are back in the hallway, running towards a door to the stairwell when they see the light on in another cell. Goris opens it to reveal an unconscious man on the floor. Behind him is a door that, when she peeks through it, leads into a small hallway. 

“This could be a way out,” she says. Goris picks up the man and follows Carla as she unlocks the door with the keycard. 

The hallway does lead to a secret exit. They climb up the ladder. They’ve only got three minutes left. Carla’s heart is beating out of her chest. The ladder leads to a trapdoor in a forest. Through the trees, Carla can see the road. 

She starts running, Goris on her heels. Lenny makes a noise of confusion, left out of the loop of their plan.

Three, two, one…

Behind them, the forest explodes, a red-hot wave of heat hitting their backs as they stumble onto the road. But they still need to run, even further, until they can never be found. Carla vaguely recognizes where they are, and that they’re about five minutes from where they left their car. She sets Lenny down so he can walk on his own. The other man is still unconscious, but seems uninjured.

Dogmeat is delighted to see them. He licks Lenny’s hand and curls up in his lap in the backseat. Carla and Goris shed their Enclave disguises, leaving them in the parking lot. 

When the car starts, the man in the back wakes up. 

“Where am I-” 

“Hey, it’s alright, you’re safe,” Carla immediately assures him. “We rescued you from the Enclave facility. It’s gone now.” 

Now that they can see him clearly, it’s obvious that the man is nearly as tall as Goris is, with broad shoulders and scraggly black hair. “Thank you,” he says, still dazed, “my name is Xarn. I’m from San Francisco.” 

“Perfect,” Carla says. “After we lay low for a couple of days, we’ll get you back there. Tomorrow, we can telephone someone.” For now, though, Carla drives for almost three hours, pulling into a small roadside motel just north of San Francisco. 

They’re not done quite yet, but at least they’re safe. And right now, that’s enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to combine Navarro and the Oil Rig into one base. That's why Doctor Curling and the FEV project is here, and why blowing it up is just like blowing the Rig.   
> Xarn is lowkey one of my favorite deathclaw characters. Also, sorry Doctor Schreber, you were in this story 100% to be immediately killed for your blue keycard.   
> Hope you enjoyed reading this! Up next, a little epilogue!


	7. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: mentions of mental and physical trauma.

Carla can’t sleep. 

It’s late at night, or sometime in the morning, it doesn’t matter. She’s back in San Francisco, but not in her apartment; Marcus wanted to make sure that it was secure before letting her go back. So the police chief had set Goris, Lenny, and her up with a hotel room for the night. Their new rescued friend Xarn would be staying at the police station for a few days, then would be transferred to a hospital to assess his wounds, both physical and psychological. 

That’s where the three of them would be going in a few days, too, after a tedious amount of police briefing. Thankfully, nobody in the press knew that they were connected with the freak explosion in the forest, so at least they didn’t have to deal with that on top of everything else. 

Above all, Carla is happy to just be sleeping somewhere safe. Or, she would be, if she could sleep. And if she could feel safe. But here she is, still awake. 

She sits on her bed, picking at a loose thread in the blanket. Dogmeat is curled up at the foot of the bed, his fur gleaming after being washed that morning. Carla had insisted that all three of them stay in the same room, so Goris and Lenny are sharing the other bed again, like they did in Reno. Back when the situation was  _ just  _ bad, and not awful. 

Carla shakes herself. Everything’s  _ fine  _ now. There’s no more dangerous situations, no more running and hiding and kidnapped friends and threats of statewide genocide. She shivers, the springs of the bed squeaking at the movement.

Lenny rolls over, blearily rubbing one eye. “C-Carla, what’re y-you doin’ up?” 

This wakes up Goris, who raises his head and frowns, squinting in her general direction. “What’s the matter, Carla?” 

She runs a hand through her short hair and shrugs, trying to stay nonchalant. “Just can’t sleep.” 

Lenny throws off the blanket and swings his legs over the side of the bed. “C-Can we help?” He gets a shrug in reply. “Tell the-the doctors when w-we go in,” he gently says. 

“For now, do you want some company?” Goris asks, patting the sheet between him and Lenny, a clear invitation. Carla is hit with a pang of anxiety, and she silently nods. She climbs onto the bed and slips under the warm blanket. Dogmeat wakes up and decides to join the party, jumping onto their bed and laying his paws across Goris’ legs. When Lenny lays back down on her other side, Carla feels comforted by their presence in a way that she hadn’t expected. 

“Thank you,” she whispers. Their hotel room is dark, but it seems a little less so with both of her friends by her side. As she falls asleep, her last thought is that the whole world seems a little better with them around. 

She’s not in the dark. She’s not alone. And she’s not afraid. Not anymore. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...And it's done! Hope you all enjoyed reading this. And because of the style, a spinoff/sequel would be perfect! I've got nothing else for this in the works right now, but with the way story ideas come to me, who knows?


End file.
